SKRAWK!
by Dark Mirage1
Summary: Turning points in the life of an avian feral.


2008  
  
"What should we do with these things, sir?"  
  
Rowland Caldwell Delay wore a perpetually pinched look on his face, as if his shoes were too small.  
  
"They look like oversized chicken's eggs, about 5 inches long?"  
  
"Faintly blue with brown speckles."  
  
"Well, what I think we should do is acquire an incubator and hatch them. Find a commercial incubator capable of holding all of them."  
  
"Incubator?"  
  
"Try the zoo. They can probably direct you to a source. They have experience hatching the...exotic."  
  
"Right away, sir." Delay looked confused by my instructions. I wondered briefly if he knew chickens hatched from eggs. The education of the young could be shockingly deficient."  
  
During the brief regime of Ashlocke and Harrison, much was lost or ruined. Ashlocke's people were barbarians with barely the wit to blindly follow their leader. Some of the pillaged labs looked as if the Huns or Vandals had ridden through, sacking and burning. Harrison understood the value of some of the equipment, protecting it for his own use, but some items, like magnetic stirrers, were completely stripped from the facility, and others, like petri dish media dispensers, had been attacked with emotional ferocity.  
  
The stasis pod securing Angela's eggs had not appeared in the initial inventory of items in good condition, and I feared Ashlocke's people made omelettes with them. Now, they had been found in a storage room after trash had been cleared from the door.  
  
Angela herself had wanted nothing to do with those eggs.  
  
"Angela's eggs?"  
  
"Yes. Fifteen fertile eggs. They've been safely in stasis all this time. I feared they had been converted to a breakfast feast, but no, they're secure."  
  
Angela was very special, beyond the fact of her being the only Avian feral I knew about.  
  
When I brought her out of her miserable captivity, she knew who I was and knew that Frank Thorne worked for me. She hardly spoke, and for a time I thought she might be simple-minded, limited by avian influence on her brain. I took her to one of the Genomex guest suites, and provided her with everything she needed to restore human dignity.  
  
She was extremely shy, and it was difficult to get her to say anything, even after she was clean and clothed.  
  
"Angela, I hold myself responsible for what Thorne did to you. You're not a prisoner, but you are welcome to stay here as long as you like."  
  
"I feel too...weak to leave." She fluttered her wings.  
  
"Then you must rest here until you are fit again."  
  
"But I can leave anytime?"  
  
"Anytime you wish, but if you do not want to be seen, I would suggest the hours of darkness, or a weekend. I've set your door to be locked from the outside so you will not be disturbed, but you will always be able to open it, and leave."  
  
"That's reasonable."  
  
"Now, understand I mean no offense by this question. What kind of food do you eat?"  
  
"If I tell you, you will be disgusted and think me...less than human."  
  
"We are what we are. I have subsisted most of the last fifteen years on a liquid diet concocted to match the specifications of my doctors."  
  
"Well...I prefer meat. Raw. Warm."  
  
She was correct. I was disgusted, but she could hardly go against her physiology.  
  
"I'll visit the kitchen and find something for you. Tomorrow, I'll get a microwave oven so you can warm your meals without the risk of spoilage."  
  
"That would be wonderful."  
  
Angela was not inclined to trust. I understood that. Only recently had I dared to invest trust in another person.  
  
I kept my promises to Angela, feeding her what she liked although I could not bear to watch her consume her gory meals. She began to talk to me. I discovered she was extraordinarily bright and well-educated. I began bringing her books. One day she told me she was a medical doctor, a researcher.  
  
"Would you like to work for me? For you, Angela, I would have a position created."  
  
"I'm flattered, but among many Genomex mutants, mutants who work for you are considered traitors to their own kind."  
  
"As you wish. I am aware of that attitude. Should you ever change your mind, the offer is open-ended."  
  
"Why are you being so nice to me, Mason?"  
  
"When Thorne assaulted you, he was on my payroll. That makes me responsible for his actions."  
  
"What are you going to do about Thorne? Or what have you already done?"  
  
"I cannot do anything about him. He's run off. He's an extremely dangerous man. As the effects of his antipsychotic drugs wear off, he becomes even more dangerous. I've sent a half-dozen agents to hunt him down. He killed one of them."  
  
"Why did you employ such a man?"  
  
"I was assured the medications would make him manageable. I should have followed my instincts and podded him. I'd have less damage to undo. His metabolism processed the drugs faster than an ordinary human, and the dosage was never adequate."  
  
"You talk about podding in front of me?"  
  
"If you have a better idea, I'm open to it. For the psychotic and gravely ill, podding is the most humane way of dealing with them."  
  
"Podding is a living death."  
  
"I know. I do not enjoy doing it. Angela, I would like you to meet someone, a scientist like yourself."  
  
She became immediately suspicious.  
  
"Someone to stare and gape at the peculiar bird-woman? I've known a number of so-called scientists who wanted to study me in the same spirit as attending an old-fashioned freak show."  
  
"Nothing like that. She's not a biologist. She's a chemist."  
  
"Why do you want us to meet?"  
  
"I think you'd like each other. I think you could be friends."  
  
"I've never had many friends. Too many people laughed at me."  
  
I shook my head. "She won't laugh at you. She...didn't laugh at me, and I'm pretty peculiar, Angela. Look at me. She discerned the humanity in me where most people saw only a heartless freak. She will not laugh at you. She's very kind."  
  
"Your girlfriend?"  
  
"Yes...no, more than that."  
  
"Well, okay. I hope you're right about this woman."  
  
"Rebecca, remember my telling you about one of my agents raping a mutant in custody?"  
  
"It was horrible."  
  
"She was in bad shape physically and mentally. I've been housing her in one of the guest suites. She's extraordinary, Rebecca: an avian feral."  
  
"Part bird?"  
  
"Specifically, part falcon. I'd like you to meet her. So many mutants possess only ordinary intelligence. Angela's brilliant. She's an MD."  
  
"I'd love to meet her."  
  
"One warning: she is convinced people see her only as malformed and ugly, which she is not. She is very sensitive about her appearance."  
  
"People can be so cruel."  
  
"Yes. And another reason: I think you'll like each other."  
  
I warned Angela that I was bringing Rebecca to meet her. Predictably, she dimmed the lighting in the suite to twilight gloom.  
  
"Angela, this is Rebecca."  
  
"Hi, Angela. I've heard a lot of good things about you."  
  
"Mason's gone on about you, too."  
  
Angela fluttered her wings, as she did when nervous. Meeting people was difficult for her."  
  
"Your wings! They're beautiful!"  
  
"No one's ever told me that before."  
  
"Well, they are beautiful."  
  
"They are, Angela," I added.  
  
"They work, too."  
  
"What do you mean?" Rebecca asked.  
  
"I haven't told Mason...but I can fly. Like a bird."  
  
"The great human dream of personal flight...and you can do it?"  
  
"If there is an open space, well-lit, an auditorium or similar place, I could demonstrate."  
  
"Are you strong enough?" I asked.  
  
"I think so. And if I'm not, it will be only a small demonstration."  
  
"The cafeteria," Rebecca said. "It's perfect."  
  
"And it's close."  
  
Angela had difficulty getting about on her feet, formed more for perching and grasping than for walking or standing. Rebecca steadied her without Angela asking or me prompting. The fact of her touching Angela without hesitation made a difference in Angela's acceptance of Rebecca.  
  
"When I was a kid in Brazil, and much smaller, I would climb up and ride the thermals like the other predatory birds."  
  
"What did they think of you?" Rebecca asked.  
  
"At first, they were wary, but I smelled somewhat like a bird. Once they became used to me, they came in for closer looks, and then decided I was one of them. That's how I learned to hunt. They taught me."  
  
Rebecca and I exchanged glances. I hope Angela did not see our expressions.  
  
The cafeteria was darkened, lit only by the lights over the emergency exits. I switched on all the lights. The cafeteria was one of the oldest parts of the complex and had high ceilings that I hoped would provide plenty of room for Angela.  
  
"As soon as I start rising, let go of my hand, Rebecca."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Angela spread out her wings, flexing them tentatively. "Feels good!" Then, with several strong beats of her wings, she was off the ground and rising! She folded her arms down along her sides so they would not interfere aerodynamically.  
  
Up and up she rose, climbing towards the ceiling. She darted around the light fixtures in patterns, threading her way among them. As ungainly and awkward as she was on the ground, Angela was elegantly graceful aloft.  
  
"Mason, she's so gorgeous in flight! She's like a dancer or gymnast, only in three dimensions."  
  
"Finally, someone...beautiful to emerge from this horror mill of Breedlove's, someone who isn't a monstrosity."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Angela became increasingly daring, her airborne gavotte more complex, her movements more difficult to anticipate. Then, she turned suddenly, dropping down to where Rebecca and I stood so fast I could hardly follow her, as she screamed a joyful "SKRAWK" reverberating in the cafeteria as she landed inches away from us.  
  
She was breathing heavily, but her eyes were bright. I had not seen her look so alive before.  
  
"Angela, that was wonderful. That was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen!"  
  
"Thanks, Rebecca, but it was just basic bird-stuff."  
  
"But you're people!"  
  
Ever after, the two women were friends. Angela had found acceptance and admiration in the last place she could imagine such happening: Genomex.  
  
Angela could fly as well as ever, but she was out of condition. On weekdays while I assisted my children with their homework, Rebecca accompanied Angela to the cafeteria, where she did 'laps' like a swimmer. On weekends when the weather was good, we would go outside and Angela would soar into the sky, sometimes becoming a mere dot.  
  
"One of these sessions, she might just flap away and never come back," I mused.  
  
"You did assure her she wasn't a prisoner."  
  
"And I meant that. I would like to wish her well when she leaves."  
  
We never tired of watching Angela in flight. We found the best way to watch her was to lie on our back, the way one watches meteors. Angela of course could see exactly where we were and would put on a display accordingly.  
  
The two women became close, like sisters. One evening, following Angela's 'laps' around the cafeteria, Rebecca returned to the quarters we now shared with a grave expression.  
  
"Mason, I'm going to shower and wash this day down the drain. Then, we have to talk. Could you finish what you are doing by then?"  
  
"Angela?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Some things women can only tell each other. Angela wants you to know, but please don't feel slighted because you have mismatched chromosomes."  
  
"That cannot be helped."  
  
"No. Mason, Angela told me tonight that she is 'with egg'. Fertilized egg."  
  
Mason groaned. "That bastard got her pregnant."  
  
"Well, the avian analogue of pregnancy."  
  
"I cannot even begin to guess what this means practically."  
  
"Me, either. After she told me, she was in tears and in no condition to answer questions."  
  
The difficult questions had to be asked, however. The next day was a Friday, and in the evening, the three of us went out by the shore. Angela was in no mood for flying. Rebecca and I sat bracketing Angela, both of us holding one of Angela's gnarled hands. Each of us was some sort of lost soul, 'driftwood on a foreign shore', as the song says, and each of us was aware of this. Most likely that is why we felt such comfort in each other's company.  
  
"Angela, anything I can do, anything Rebecca can do, tell us, and it is yours."  
  
Angela was quiet, but she was crying. "You cannot undo the past."  
  
"No," Rebecca began, "the past is done and complete. But the future is not, and that is what we are here for."  
  
"I don't want those eggs, Rebecca, but it is too late to do anything about them."  
  
"You must lay them?" I asked.  
  
"Yes. Each and every one."  
  
"What happens after you lay them?"  
  
"I'm guessing, but logically, they would need to be kept at a particular temperature to complete development. I never considered motherhood. I never wanted it. And I certainly never wanted that psychotic's babies."  
  
"Emotionally, do you think you could walk away from these eggs and allow..." Rebecca was at a loss for words. None of us could be quite sure what was inside of those eggs. "...the life inside of them to die from lack of care?"  
  
We had discussed this earlier, Rebecca and I, and neither of us believed Angela could neglect her progeny.  
  
"Of course not. I'm a doctor. I'm sworn to do no harm."  
  
Suddenly, the idea came to me.  
  
"Angela, there is something else that could be done. After you've laid the last of the eggs, they could be placed in stasis. You could go forward with your life. Perhaps, in the future, when you no longer feel pressured, you may decide you want these children very much. People do change, Angela."  
  
"True enough, Mason."  
  
"Eggs have never been placed in stasis before, but I know of no reason why the process would not work. And remember, the units monitor the life within. If the pod begins to fail, or the life inside the pods drifts toward death, the units have alarms."  
  
"What would you do in that case?" Angela asked, sobbing.  
  
"Acquire an incubator, do our best to hatch the eggs, and care for the hatchlings."  
  
"I think stasis is the best thing to do."  
  
"Very well."  
  
So it was that Angela laid fifteen pale blue eggs with brown speckles, each carefully padded and protected inside a communal stasis pod. Angela did not want to see the process, or the eggs in stasis, so I merely assured her that the work had been performed by my best technicians.  
  
Two days later, after executing 'laps' in the cafeteria, Angela failed to complete her session with the usual ear-splitting shriek and precision touch-down.  
  
"Rebecca, it's time for me to go."  
  
"Go where?" Rebecca asked, baffled.  
  
"Back into the world. Right now."  
  
"Without saying anything to Mason?"  
  
"It's hard enough saying goodbye to one of you. I appreciate all of your kindnesses. I will miss you."  
  
"You aren't planning on vanishing forever, are you?"  
  
"O, no. I will call. I might even –SKRAWK—drop by for a visit. But now, I must go."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I think that first I will spend some time...as a falcon, hunting, away from people. Goodbye, Rebecca. Take good care of Mason. He deserves it."  
  
With that, Angela soared off into the night. Rebecca thinks she heard a faint 'skrawk' a few minutes later.  
  
I personally supervised the transfer of Angela's eggs from their stasis pod to the incubator. I found the process fascinating, and spent hours reading about ...poultry science. Nobody knew what was going to hatch from those eggs, but I was prepared for bird-like hatchlings.  
  
I sat with the eggs more than anyone, finding myself thinking of things like Mussoursky's Pictures at an Exhibition/'Ballet of the Chicks in Their Shells'. Sometimes Rebecca sat with me, but sometimes not, since the incubator did have an alarm to warn us when motion was detected.  
  
My watchfulness was rewarded. I was there when the first hatchling pecked its way free of its shell.  
  
Amazingly, there was nothing but 'birdness' about it, nothing to suggest Angela. I watched its feathers dry to fluffy beige down and cheered inwardly when it took its first awkward steps into the world. Eventually, it hopped over towards me, making high-pitched "skrak" sounds as it traveled.  
  
Approaching the glass as closely as it could, the fluffy, downy falconlette looked up into my eyes and made a connection, eyes glowing like liquid amber with an intense black pupil. This was nothing like looking into a bird's eyes. When you stare at a bird, they think you are planning to eat them. There was intelligence behind the hatching's eyes, and some kind of understanding.  
  
"SKRAK!"  
  
More of the hatchlings emerged over the next five hours and each of them performed the same bonding ritual. Each of them had the same intelligent eyes.  
  
I was stirred from my falconlette fascination only by the sound of the door opening behind me. Rebecca had entered the incubator room, in her bathrobe.  
  
"It's 3.15 in the morning, Mason."  
  
"Rebecca, almost everyone has hatched."  
  
She looked sleepy and on the edge of irritability until I said that."  
  
"They look like birds." She sounded disappointed.  
  
"Not in the eyes."  
  
The eleven hatchlings hopped over to the side of the incubator where Rebecca stood, going "skrak skrak skrak" all the while. Then they fell silent, raised up their fluffy bird heads, and gazed at Rebecca. Then, they all skrakked once, then hopped back to the warm side of the incubator.  
  
"O my. They look like birds, but they are more than just birds, aren't they?"  
  
"They are. I cannot imagine what they might be."  
  
"I wish Angela was here...although she might not understand this any better than we do."  
  
I learned almost immediately that the 'bonding' between me and the hatchlings worked both ways. Not only did they gaze upon me with adoring eyes, but I felt compelled to care for them, to feed them and provide fresh water. I had a microphone installed in the incubator so I could hear their skraks when I could not be with them. After all, I had to work sometime.  
  
The last four eggs never hatched. When it was clear they were dead, I ordered autopsies performed on each of them. When the technician removed the first egg, the falconlettes began frantically hopping, even throwing themselves against the glass.  
  
"This is spooky," the technician observed.  
  
I couldn't think of anything else to do but to talk to them. "Your brothers and sisters ere not strong enough to hatch and be with you. They've gone. No one can harm them now."  
  
The falconlettes immediately fell silent, but they watch the tech intently as he removed the eggs. They offered no further comment. When I was once again alone with my flock, I spoke to them once more.  
  
"I do understand. Long ago, I lost a brother."  
  
They looked at me with sad eyes, then one by one they broke away.  
  
"This is becoming exceedingly strange, Rebecca. They understand the meaning of the things I say to them."  
  
"Telepathic falconlettes!"  
  
"Be serious."  
  
"I am serious. They certainly don't understand the words, but they do understand the meaning."  
  
They did seem to understand any important message I gave to them.  
  
The autopsy reports and photos made disturbing reading. Each of the four individuals who had failed to hatch possessed some obviously human characteristics. Two were wingless, and had not a trace of feathers. Another had human feet, not capable of grasping a perch like a bird, and the last was an individual much like Angela, but with multiple sets of wings. Each of them had a distinctly human head. Their human qualities made complete development inside the egg impossible.  
  
My flock grew quickly.  
  
"What are you going to do with your bird-babies?" Rebecca asked.  
  
"I can't throw them out into the world, can I?"  
  
"Hardly."  
  
So it was that the falcon house began to be constructed on one of the rooftops, to accommodate falcons coming and going, and to allow them a safe place to get in out of the weather. I could not think of any better solution. Confining them all their lives was not considered.  
  
"I think it's time to introduce the kids to the world outside."  
  
Rebecca was right. She bought two animal carriers that would easily hold the flock. The falconlettes loaded up with surprising ease.  
  
Once outside, we opened the doors of the carriers, and the small birds rushed out into the sunlight.  
  
"I hope we don't lose any of them."  
  
Rebecca shook her head. "The way they are attached to you? Not a chance."  
  
The flock was joyfully fluttering and skrakking in the warmth of the sun, trying their wings and doing their best to coordinate everything required for flight.  
  
"I wondered how I was going to teach them to fly. It doesn't appear I'll need to worry about that."  
  
By now, they could get off the ground and flap a few hard-won meters. Each time one of these flights ended, the flyer would shriek a satisfied 'skrak', then after resting a few moments, would try again, flying a few meters more. Mostly, they flew in circles around us, not straying far.  
  
"Let's take the children for a walk," I said. As we walked along, the birds traveled with us, circling or flapping alongside. Then something incredible happened.  
  
As we approached an open-topped trash bin lined with a plastic bag, six of the children fluttered to the rim of the container, facing outward. They relieved themselves, then flew back to us. The remaining five birds took their places on the container rim.  
  
Rebecca and I stopped, stared, and wondered. Finally, Rebecca made a comment: "Skrawk."  
  
Skrawk indeed. We continued our stroll. The children were becoming competent, even graceful flyers. One by one, they abandoned their lessons, and fell in behind me, walking. Two of them flapped to my shoulders, and perched there, announcing their arrivals with skraks.  
  
"You have a following."  
  
It was true. The falconlettes were lined up behind me, not behind the two of us.  
  
Walking the kids became a daily event. One day, when I knew the falcon house was completed and ready for them, I waited until we had reached the part of the walking ritual where two perched on my shoulders and the rest followed behind.  
  
"Feathered children, I have prepared a home for you on the rooftop, where you may shelter and feed, and come and go as it pleases you." I then visualized the location. Neither of us was much surprised by the whole flock suddenly taking to the air in the direction of their new home.  
  
Sometimes, it is difficult to know if people act out of brazen self- confidence or pure stupidity. Or both.  
  
Thomasina Hobson sat smiling in my office as if the last 18 months had never happened.  
  
"I'm surprised to see you, Miss Hobson."  
  
"I want to thank you for granting me this interview." She smiled and smiled. Thomasina Hobson had the most unhealthy looking smile I had ever seen on a human face.  
  
"I was curious to know what could bring you back to Genomex." Which was true. Thomasina Hobson was one of the last people from the old Genomex I ever expected to see again.  
  
"I'm hoping you could help me find someone."  
  
"Who would be?"  
  
"Dr Kenneth Harrison."  
  
She either had no judgment or believed I had none.  
  
"The last I saw of Ken Harrison, he was in the custody of one of my superiors. I do not know what happened to him."  
  
"You were my last hope." She still smiled.  
  
"Dr Harrison was a key member of the conspiracy releasing Gabriel Ashlocke upon the world, and putting me into a stasis pod. I'm well aware of your involvement with him, so you will not be shocked by my belief that you must have been aware of this conspiracy if not an active member."  
  
Chasing the smile from Thomasina's face was all but impossible, but I had done it.  
  
"I just want to find Ken."  
  
I believed I had just seen the first unguarded emotion I had ever seen from Thomasina Hobson.  
  
Ken Harrison was one of the most dishonest characters I ever met in the world of business. To begin, Tricorp Botanicals was misrepresented to me in terms of its finances and research capabilities. "Slimy Ken" had to be involved in both exaggerations.  
  
As soon as my technical specialists and accounting people revealed the full story of Tricorp, I quietly put most of the business up for sale, either as a unit or in divisions. I only wanted a small sliver of the Tricorp operation, the part doing genetic research. Whatever happened, "Slimy Ken" was supposed to depart into the sunset, and never again would I find myself looking at his deceitful face, his stinking, reeking Rafflesia, or his carnivore gardens.  
  
Before I could sell Harrison down river, he displayed his ultimate sliminess and betrayed me to Ashlocke and his band of not terribly bright mutant sycophants. For not keeping close watch on Ken Harrison, I paid the price of spending several months in the deep chill of stasis.  
  
Once released, dealing with Harrison was high on my list of priorities. In fact, I took care of him in terms of hours after my release.  
  
Or I believed I had.  
  
"Just for fun, Mason, pull up www.xemoneg.com." Rebecca rarely called me in the middle of a work day, so there must be something of interest there.  
  
"Xemoneg? Genomex backwards?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"It looks like a site dedicated to former Genomex employees. Unhappy ones."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm not really surprised to see this. I made a lot of people unhappy last year when I cleaned house, retaining only Dr Varady and you."  
  
"After the Ashlocke-Harrison coup d'etat, what else could you do? I'm curious to know what else this group is up to other than swapping job leads."  
  
There were literally thousands of postings on the xenomeg site. By no means were they all from unhappy former employees.  
  
There was a whole area devoted to stories about me. Some were fantastic confabulations, some were true, and still others were tales I had dreamt up to spread for my own reasons. Of course, this bunch did not know how to characterize these stories, making their comments amusing. I decided to join the fun by registering as my alter ego, Martin Gradison Ertel.  
  
I was particularly intrigued to find a section labeled "Genomex Today". Despite all the efforts applied towards hiring people with no connections to Ashlocke, Harrison, or Adam, it was evident that some of the new hires knew some of the old hires and were passing along non-confidential stories. I didn't like the idea and decided to have Delay look into finding whoever was telling tales.  
  
Elsewhere, I was stunned to find Mayakovsky still telling the same tiresome jokes about the high probability that I wore black pinstripe pajamas. Such a brilliant man, such a juvenile sense of humor. But so brilliant. I noted his email address with the intention of making him a job offer.  
  
There was an area dedicated to selling and swapping items, a kind of online garage sale.  
  
There were postings from people looking for former coworkers, usually because of employment possibilities. Then I came upon one other kind:  
  
Information desired about Dr Ken Harrison. Thomasina Hobson  
  
That was interesting enough, but what really caught my eye was Slimy Ken's reply. April had not fed him to the fishes after all. I would have to talk to her about that.  
  
Had I not stopped there, but continued on through all of these listings, I could have spared myself a great deal of trouble.  
  
The falconlettes now lived outside in their rooftop home. In the evenings, Rebecca and I would carry two pails of diced raw meat to the falconlettes, who were nearly falcons now. The interior of their home was nearly spotless, except for an occasional lost feather. They were fastidious creatures.  
  
We filled bowls with the meat cubes, but we also fed them individual cubes offered on barbeque tongs. This allowed a daily inspection of each bird. If the weather was good, we'd all go for an after dinner stroll around the Breedlove walking trail. This gave the birds a chance to show off their increasingly more daring acrobatic skills at close range, much closer than one would ever see a wild bird.  
  
Rebecca and I both had falconers gloves, so the children could now perch on our arms despite their formidable talons. Their "skraks" had become adult- sounding "skrawks". They skrawked when they landed and skrawked again when they took off.  
  
Some evenings some of the birds just weren't hungry at all, although they would politely take one meat chunk personally offered by one of us.  
  
"Mmm, they're probably enjoying a sumptuous repast of pigeon sometime during the day, very juicy, very fresh!"  
  
"That is their nature, Rebecca. I don't think we should look too closely at what they do offsite."  
  
"I'm glad to see their nature as predators developing. They're learning to live like birds. Trying to make pets of them would have been a mistake."  
  
"I worry about one thing. I worry that they will trust humans too much because they trust us."  
  
"No one else has spent much time with them, and these aren't mere birds. If you told them to be wary of other people, I believe they would take your advice."  
  
One evening during our strolls, we turned a corner in the trail, and came upon Miss Whitley, a recent hire in payroll. She was seated on one of the benches along the trail, and did not hear us approach on the wood-chip covered path until the falcons suddenly took wing and perched in the highest branches. The sound of 22 wings beating furiously startled Miss Whitley.  
  
"Good evening, Mr Eckhart."  
  
"Good evening, Miss Whitley."  
  
"I hope I'm not doing anything improper by staying over and reading. I don't have a quiet place to read at home."  
  
"As long as you don't report this as time worked, there is no problem."  
  
"Mr Eckhart, are all of those birds yours?"  
  
"I doubt if anyone ever owns one of these birds, but I am responsible for them. In that sense, they own me."  
  
Rebecca and I walked on. The falcons followed us at treetop level until we were well clear of the lingering Miss Whitley.  
  
"I guess I don't need to worry about the children trusting every one."  
  
There came a fine and beautiful day, cloudless, the sky as blue as it ever becomes. Temperature and humidity were ideal.  
  
Rebecca and I gathered up our pails of falcon-bite sized chunks of raw meat. We decided to delay our dinner until later so we could spend more time outside. We had a surprise waiting on the rooftop.  
  
"They're already here, Mason."  
  
That was odd. They had a good sense of time, as many animals do, and they typically arrived within minutes of our routine appearance. They were perched in a tight group near the entrance of their 'house'. Usually they greeted us with loud, raucous skrawks and a great fluttering of wings as they wheeled around us in a tight circle, breaking off one by one to dart into the house to await dinner.  
  
"Something is not right. They are so listless and dull."  
  
"Mason, there are some sick people in the world. Someone may have poisoned them."  
  
Poisoned the children? What monster could poison my beautiful falcons?  
  
Of course I had a veterinarian for them, a fellow who specialized in birds. He didn't know quite how special these falcons were, but he admired them greatly.  
  
"I'm calling DR Ulmer."  
  
"No," Rebecca began. "That's not necessary."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Count them. There are only ten falcons here."  
  
The falcon nearest us let out a long, soft skrawk, and at that moment we knew we would never see the eleventh falcon again.  
  
"Let's feed them, and leave them alone for the evening."  
  
They followed us into the house, alighting on individual perches. Rebecca started filling the nearest bowl. The falcon on that perch skrawked softly, then reached out with a formidably taloned foot and grasped three meat cubes, carefully dropping the cubes back into the pail. Then the bird gazed up into Rebecca's eyes.  
  
"Mason, they're in mourning."  
  
And so they were. We offered each in turn a single cube, and each refused the individually offered meat. I found myself talking to them.  
  
"I am so sorry."  
  
I looked up to see Rebecca watching me. Other people might laugh for offering condolences to falcons, but not Rebecca. She turned to the birds.  
  
"I'm sorry, too."  
  
We left the falcon-children to their grieving. I knew that many mammals formed close friendships and went through a period of grief, searching for a companion after their death. I had never heard of such behavior in birds, however.  
  
We replaced the meat pails in the refrigerator, and while in the kitchen, cancelled our own dinners. We were in mourning; we had lost a well-loved child.  
  
The following day, the falcons stayed close to home, not out of fear, but from lack of energy and ambition. On the third day, their appetites returned, but they remained subdued.  
  
They could not tell us what had happened. Truth to tell, I do not think I want to know.  
  
Just a few days late, still feeling the loss of the one falcon, Rebecca and I retreated to our quarters to lose ourselves in reading or work. The light had faded far enough so that the exterior lights of the site were lit, but one could still easily discern shades of color.  
  
The single window is a multi-layered laminate, designed to stop most projectiles. The bottom edge of the window is 6 meters off the ground, so casual visits to the window are unlikely.  
  
We both flinched when the tapping began on the window. The sight greeting us was equally startling: Angela, tapping frantically with what was left of a tree branch, beating her wings furiously to hover in place. She was wearing the same clothes she had on the night she departed, but now they hung upon her in filthy tatters. Her hair was long and unkempt, with bits of twigs lodged here and there.  
  
"She can't keep that up for long."  
  
We ran quick as we could up the stairways to the rooftop. Even before reaching the edge, I began calling her. Moments later, she soared up onto the roof, landing less than a meter away.  
  
"Skrawk!"  
  
Seen up close, her appearance was more shocking. Her eyes were wild with a look not seen much in sane humans.  
  
"Angela! What has happened to you?"  
  
Angela turned and gazed at Rebecca for too long. I began to worry that our friend Angela had gone mad. Then, slowly, she began speaking.  
  
"I've been living ... in the wilderness ...with wild birds. Hunting. Killing. Flying. All this time ... I've lived as a bird among them. Be patient with me; I am remembering how to speak. I have spoken with no one since the night I left Genomex."  
  
"Lived as a bird?" I asked.  
  
"Yes. The wild birds accepted me as one of them. I have learned so many things! But a few days ago, I felt a calling out to come to this place and was sure one of you must need my help badly. I have been flying most of the hours since."  
  
I smiled. I could not imagine Angela rejecting her falcon-children, not once she met them.  
  
"I think I know who called to you. Come with us." I turned and began leading the way to the falcon house. Rebecca took up one of Angela's gnarled, filthy hands.  
  
"So many things have happened, Angela! Mason spent several months in a stasis pod!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"He wasn't given much choice, but that's over with now."  
  
I had reached the falcon house where I knew the falcon-children were going to sleep on their perches.  
  
"Angela, Rebecca—wait outside." I switched on an exterior light. "I'll bring them out."  
  
"Bring who?" Angela asked.  
  
"You'll see in just a few moments." Rebecca smiled.  
  
I turned on the interior lights, waking the falcons.  
  
"Children! Your Egg-Mother is here! Come and greet her!"  
  
There was much fluttering and flapping of wings, but no skrawking. The bird nearest me flapped onto my shoulder, with the others walking and hopping behind. I left the falcon house with a following.  
  
"Angela, we did not call you. Your children did, your very special children."  
  
Angela's eyes widened at the sight of the bird on my shoulder, who took off and landed at her feet. As the other birds emerged, each of them did the same.  
  
They did not just flutter and land before her. They formed a perfectly scribed semi-circle around her. When they had all assembled, they looked up at Angela, and their eyes glowed amber.  
  
"They're mine?"  
  
"Don't let their looks fool you. They are much more than birds," I said.  
  
"They called you," Rebecca began. "One of their siblings was lost last week. They've been in mourning."  
  
"Such beautiful children."  
  
"They're telepathic, Angela. If I warn them or explain a specific situation by speech to them, they understand. They are highly intelligent."  
  
"You've done a wonderful job of raising them. I can tell you allowed them to be free-roaming birds. They are well-muscled and tough."  
  
I smiled. "Thank you."  
  
"Angela, it's their bedtime. Would you like to go to your old room and clean up? I know where your old clothes are."  
  
"Thank you, Rebecca. I will want to do that badly—in the morning. Tonight, I want to sleep near my beautiful children."  
  
Rebecca smiled. "I'll come back for you in the morning, before any of the employees arrive."  
  
Thomasina  
  
I thought I was never ever going to see my Ken again. On that horrible day in 2007 when that dreadful Mason Eckhart singled out Ken for special treatment, I watched Ken being dragged away. The last I saw of him, he was hauled up into one of those black helicopters. I never believed the stories about black helicopters, but there they were!  
  
Maybe there are a lot of things that aren't supposed to be that really are. It's hard to know what to believe.  
  
I was sure Ken would call me, if he could, meaning if he was allowed or –sniff—if he was still alive. Those guys who took over Genomex looked capable of doing anything.  
  
Days passed. Weeks. Months. Ken's mail kept piling up. I put it all into cardboard boxes, ready for hi if he ever came back. He wasn't around to pay his bills, of course, so the cable company cut service. Then the gas and electric company was displeased enough to shut everything off.  
  
The really sad thing was the way Ken's carnivore's died off, one by one. I didn't neglect them. Ken had told me what they needed to live and I followed his instructions to the letter. I just did not have his special touch with those special plants.  
  
After several months elapsed, and still no hint of Ken, the mortgage company became insistent about being paid. I couldn't pay them. I was paying rent on my apartment. Fortunately I had found another job soon after Eckhart's Day of the Long Knives, but I couldn't pay Ken's mortgage, too.  
  
I could pay for storage, though. Since I did not know of any of his relatives, I took the initiative and had almost everything packed up and placed in storage. Ken would want these things if he wasn't dead.  
  
Somehow, I just didn't feel like Ken was dead. It was as if I could 'sense' him out there somewhere.  
  
I got desperate enough to pick up the phone and make an appointment to see Eckhart, and ask him about Ken. I was surprised when I was able to get that appointment, and was suspicious of his motivations.  
  
I never did figure out that guy. I worked hard every day trying to make Genomex look good and be respected in the biotech industry. Eckhart just didn't understand how important these considerations are.  
  
Back in 2006 and earlier I used to get dozens of phone calls from people in the neighborhood. They'd see white smoke venting from the plant, and ask if it was toxic and they should pack up their cars and clear out! I would tell them that what they saw was only steam, and they would calm down right away. I don't know what the stuff venting was, but keeping people calm seemed important.  
  
I initiated the Community Communications and Public Awareness Dinners so people would feel even safer. These dinners were a great success—very few people pestered me with phone calls about the "steam". I wonder if Eckhart continued having those dinners? They were such a good idea!  
  
Being completely truthful, however, I have to admit to seeing some odd things at Genomex. Well, I can't complain. My Genomex stock has always done very well.  
  
Eckhart was always a mystery. Imagine my shock when my buddy Imogene in personnel bounced into my office one afternoon, smiling as she closed the door behind her. This meant she had some stunning, shocking juicy gossip!  
  
"You won't believe who just came into personnel and changed their status from 'single' to 'married'."  
  
"That mousey, almost invisible Eurasian woman Paul Breedlove thought was so brilliant?"  
  
Lilith Chen was one of the most painfully shy adults I had ever seen.  
  
"No! Besides, she's been gone for months!"  
  
Imogene was about ready to burst.  
  
"You'll have to tell me."  
  
"Mason Eckhart!" Imogene squealed.  
  
This had to be a joke.  
  
"I didn't know he liked girls. Or anything."  
  
"Nobody knew!"  
  
"Imogene, you wouldn't be pulling my leg, would you?"  
  
"No! And he married another Genomexer! Dr Steyn!"  
  
"Steyn? Well, she's not a kid anymore. She must have been desperate."  
  
All of this flashed through my mind as I entered Eckhart's office. Nothing had changed in there. It was still frigidly cold.  
  
Eckhart said he knew nothing about Ken's whereabouts. If it had been anyone else, I would have believed them, but everyone knew he was a gifted liar.  
  
Still, he was polite if coldly aloof.  
  
It's funny how things work out. I came home that day dejected, sad, and ready to eat a whole pound of milk chocolate. But first, I read my email, and there I found the key unlocking everything. I had a message from my old buddy Charlene, who used to process employee claims and kept me informed who was getting treatment for drug dependencies and who was having any exotic medical problems. This is what she said:  
  
Hey T,  
  
Check out this site! Anyone who used to work at Genomex should find it FASCINATING!  
  
C.  
  
I followed the link to www.xemoneg.com, and read page after page. It was 12.30 AM before I noticed the time and I hadn't even thought about the chocolate.  
  
Before going to be –alone, no Ken, sniff—I registered and put up a brief notice about how I was looking for information about Dr Ken Harrison.  
  
I forgot all about the notice for more than a week. Then I logged back in, and found I had a reply waiting!  
  
'Thomasina'—  
  
The genuine Thomasina would know the name of Ken Harrison's favorite Red Dragon venus flytrap.  
  
Then there was a hotmail email address.  
  
I replied immediately, since I was the genuine Thomasina! That trap was always one of Ken's favorites, and he had given it a name: Tamerlane.  
  
After I sent the reply, I started checking for an answer every two hours. Fourteen hours later, the first email from Ken arrived, after hurtling through cyberspace to my inbox!  
  
Ken had fallen on hard times. He asked me to wire him money for a bus ticket. I did. Two days later, I met him at the bus station and brought him home! What a story he had to tell!  
  
When Ken stepped off the bus he looked disoriented after 30 hours on the road. He looked haggard and in bad need of a shave, too. He looked about, vacantly, trying to find me, but he couldn't sort me out of the crowd. That's because I was now a brunette with sparkling chestnut highlights! I changed colors to look more sedate and reliable when I was job-hunting.  
  
I ran the final few feet to him, and hugged him. "Ken!"  
  
It was just like the movies when the beloved comes home from a long sea voyage, or when the hero emerges from his plane or rocketship. His true love, the quiet, faithful, noble-hearted woman embraces him; they kiss.  
  
Well, that was the lovely fantasy I had in my head. We weren't in a worn- out bus station with a dirty littered floor, and a clientele ranging from the very poor to students to some individuals obviously up to no good...every size, shape and color people came...some smelling very bad.  
  
No, this was a fog-shrouded wharf, and Captain Ken Harrison had just survived harrowing months at sea...  
  
Holding that pretty picture in my mind, I was not prepared for what came next. Ken flinched, took a step backward, and pushed me away!  
  
By now, people were watching. I could feel their eyes.  
  
"Ken, it's Thomasina!"  
  
"Thomasina, I'm so sorry."  
  
So was I.  
  
"Where's your luggage?"  
  
"Luggage? This is it." He held up a well-used Walgreen's bag. Then he dropped his voice to a near-whisper. "I'm lucky to be free and alive. Let's get out of here."  
  
On the way home –taking Ken home at last, wheee!—we stopped at a Target store and bought Ken some clothes since he didn't have any, and because we didn't know what his old stuff would be like when we got it out of storage.  
  
"You have to tell me everything, Ken."  
  
Ken groaned. "Where to begin..."  
  
"At the beginning. I saw those thugs haul you into that black helicopter."  
  
"That horrible woman Dancer was Eckhart's boss. She had that harmless Samihah Shah between two of the biggest guys I've ever seen. She looked scared. I wonder what they did to her?"  
  
"She has three sons, you know. Fairly young. How tragic. What became of them, I wonder?"  
  
"To return to my story, Thomasina..."  
  
"Oh, yes."  
  
"That horrible woman Dancer began making comments about how Mason suggested I be fed to the fishes. At that point, she directed the pilot to take the helicopter not back towards land, but out over the water. She said, 'You do realize when we're far enough from shore, and there are no boats below, I can do as I please and there will be no witnesses.' Horrible woman."  
  
'Are you enjoying tormenting me, or might there be a point to this discussion?'  
  
"Before making a decision about what to do with you, I think I should allow you some time for reflection. In a few days, I'll offer you a deal, but only once." She smiled when she said that, Thomasina, like a cat with feathers plastered around its mouth feigning innocence with the canary gone..."  
  
"Dragon Lady Dancer!" I imagined a woman in a tight silk dress with a high collar, tormenting my Ken with the possibility of plunging him into a pit full of poisonous vipers!  
  
"They locked me into a small, windowless apartment. There wasn't much there except a cot. I couldn't control the lights; they took my watch away from me, and I'm certain they kept changing the lengths of "day" and "night" to confuse me."  
  
"Thank must have been horrible." I envisioned Prince Kenneth, chained to a wall in a dank, dark, subterranean dungeon, at the mercy of his vile captors who could kill him on a whim, and no one the wiser..."  
  
"It was horrible. Finally that dreadful Dancer woman had me brought to her office. She said, 'The offer is very simple, Dr Harrison. You agree to work for one of my people, kept within the work site 24/7, with no outside contact. Or I feed you to the fishes, as Mason wished, and as you deserve, but I so hate to see talent go to waste.'"  
  
"That sounds like slavery."  
  
"It was. They maintained the fiction of it being otherwise by depositing money into an account for me every two weeks, but I could not touch the money, and what would I do with it when I could not go anywhere to spend it?"  
  
"Did they make you eat gruel?"  
  
"What are you talking about, Thomasina? Gruel?"  
  
"I'm sorry, it's just that gruel seems to fit in so well with the rest of it." Well, it did! Prince Kenneth in soiled, worn dark blue velvet, the same shirt he had worn when captured months ago, eating his gruel...the same shirt that made his eyes look so wonderful...  
  
"That's where I've been all these months, working for April's botanist, Dr Burke. Actually the work itself was interesting. Burke was doing some bizarre things with datura and belladonna. I learned some things there...things I will need to keep in mind and pursue sometime later. What happened to my house?"  
  
"The mortgage company took it."  
  
"I thought that would happen."  
  
"But Ken, I saved the contents—your books, your tools, your collections. It's all in storage!"  
  
"You saved these things from the landfill?"  
  
"Of course I did, Ken Darling!" This felt just like the scene in the movie where Princess Alexandra reveals to Prince Kenneth that she has kept his gold and jewels safe, and he is not penniless!  
  
"With my books and my notes, the efforts of a lifetime are not thrown away! I can start again, somewhere...O Thomasina, Love of My Life, you have saved me from the desolation of lost and unrecoverable data!"  
  
"For you, my prince, anything!"  
  
O, what a night! Wheee!  
  
I woke up in the middle of the night. Seized by inspiration, I went to the kitchen and hard-boiled three dozen eggs! Ken's favorite food in all the world was deviled eggs and I made a lot of them—trays of them. Right before going back to bed I put two bottles of Andre champagne in the fridge to chill. I had bought it back on the 5th of December hoping that Ken would be back in time to celebrate New Year's with me. That didn't happen –sniff—and I had to celebrate New Year's all by myself –double sniff.  
  
Then I called in sick to work. Wouldn't you?  
  
Imagine how surprised Ken was when I woke him at 11 AM [okay, I'll admit it, I was up at 9 AM to watch Jerry Springer. If I wasn't going to work, I was going to see what kind of zoo Springer had on that morning. Where do these people come from? I never meet anyone as strange as "Cross-dressing bisexuals who go to family reunions to find dates". Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!]and put a fluted glass of champagne full of bubbles into one hand and a Styrofoam plate of deviled eggs in the other!  
  
Ken really liked the deviled eggs.  
  
"I haven't eaten this well in months. Not since my last week at Genomex, in fact."  
  
"The last time I made deviled eggs for you!"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What did they feed you?"  
  
"Mystery meat. Overcooked vegetables reduced to semi-liquids. A lot of bland spaghetti. Never anything fresh, never anything seasoned."  
  
"Well, that's all over with now that you're home."  
  
"Home...Thomasina, where are my lovely carnivores?"  
  
I knew Ken was going to ask this question, but as long as he did not, I was trying to be happy.  
  
"Ken, I did everything you told me to do, but all of them died before the mortgage company seized your house."  
  
I started crying.  
  
Ken fell back onto his pillow. "Oh, the loss! The horror!"  
  
I cried some more.  
  
Suddenly, Ken sat back up and re-filled our champagne glasses.  
  
"Weep no more, my lady. The old cultivars may be gone, but I will rebuild my carnivore collection...better than the old one. My contacts in the carnivore fancy will help."  
  
"Do you really think so," I sobbed. It was just like that scene where Prince Kenneth gazes out from atop the castle wall onto the campfires of the besiegers. Things look bad. Princess Alexandra stands beside him, as she always does. She weeps softly, knowing surrender of the castle will not be pleasant.  
  
Suddenly, Prince Kenneth has an insight flash into his mind!  
  
"Love of my life, dry your tears! I know now how I will drive the cruel Vantigars from the castle of your father!"  
  
"Yes," Ken said. "A toast to the new generation of cultivars!"  
  
We clinked our glasses together, toasting Ken's special plants. With his greenhouse gone along with his house, I couldn't imagine where he was going to grow these plants, but he seemed happy and that was enough for me.  
  
A little later –wheee!—Ken reflected on the darker moments of his recent past.  
  
"That...Mason Eckhart. Is he still running Genomex?"  
  
Ken was almost scary when he talked about someone this way, the way Prince Kenneth was in the scene where he began plotting revenge against his half- brother Rupert, who had betrayed him to the savage Vantigars, dark clouds drifting across his eyes as Alexandra watched, fearful of the changes in her beloved prince.  
  
"Eckhart's still running things. I talked to him not long ago."  
  
"You talked to him? Why?"  
  
"I was desperate to find you. I made an appointment and went to see him. He said he didn't know anything about you, but he's such a good liar, it's hard to tell."  
  
Ken hugged me tightly. "O, my brave beloved! You ventured forth into the pit of vipers and faced the Viper Master alone—for me! O, how can I hope to be worthy of you?"  
  
"You are worthy of me, Ken, you are!"  
  
I could not help but think of the scene where Princess Alexandra is seen by sentries to be trudging up the dusty road to the castle. Half-delirious from low blood sugar and the horrors she has just endured in the lair of the Great Winged Worm, she is covered with venomous green slime that the Great Winged Worm spat upon her.  
  
Prince Kenneth leaps onto the back of his white steed and gallops out to Alexandra, humbling himself before her in the dust of the road.  
  
"I am not worthy."  
  
"Ah, but you are, Prince Kenneth!"  
  
"Oh, thank you. Love of my life...I'm thinking after all the misery and pain Eckhart has brought to us, it is time for a small payback." Ken smiled slyly. I adored that sly smile and the way it made his eyes look.  
  
"How small?"  
  
"Maybe not small at all. But first, I need to find a champion."  
  
"A champion?"  
  
"Muscle."  
  
"Oh. Have another deviled egg."  
  
"Thank you, my love, but I would prefer another of something else."  
  
Wheee!  
  
Mason  
  
April Dancer's phone call came late one evening. I knew the news would be bad from her eyes and flat expression, most unlike the April I had known since she recruited me in 1983.  
  
"Mason, I've done something unwise and am now reaping the unhappy consequences that may affect you as well."  
  
Rebecca left her computer and came to stand behind me, hands on my shoulders, attention drawn by April's tone.  
  
April Dancer enjoyed near-legendary status in intelligence. She deserved that reputation; she earned it making few mistakes and achieving many successes. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering resolve, then said, "Ken Harrison is loose in the world and it is my fault."  
  
"I had hoped he had long since gone to hell."  
  
"That's where I should have sent him. Perhaps it is time for me to retire." She sighed.  
  
Behind me, Rebecca whispered, "That weaselly, self-important, forgettable little man."  
  
"How did this happen?"  
  
"Ken Harrison was no prize of a human being, --we had suspicions of odd conduct in his personal life—but intellectually, he was potentially valuable."  
  
"So long as he did not betray one."  
  
"Yes, Mason, I know. I had one of my technical people working on a project with daturas, a group of plants with sinister-looking flowers and a sweet scent."  
  
"And every portion of the plant toxic."  
  
"Yes. Well, Jed Burke had been after me for months to find someone capable to work with him on the project. I had Harrison's botanical work investigated thoroughly before approving Genomex's acquisition of Tricorp. His credentials in botany were solid, and after he fell into my keeping, it occurred to me that I had just the person Burke wanted."  
  
"Mistake," Rebecca whispered.  
  
"I offered Harrison a deal. If he would work for me, for Burke, he could live. I would pay him a salary that would go directly into a bank account. He was to live at the facility, have no contact with anyone outside of the project, and after two years I would review his status and decide whether he deserved better."  
  
"Naturally, he accepted this generous offer."  
  
"Most people would, given the alternatives. The work was interesting, cutting edge stuff, and while he was at it, he made solid, important contributions. But I must not have impressed upon Burke the need to keep Harrison on a short, stout chain. Burke developed respect for him as a botanist and lost sight of what an untrustworthy man he was working with. Ken Harrison was able to just walk away from Burke one day, and now, he's out there, maybe thinking about doing something unpleasant to you."  
  
"No one's seen hide nor hair of him since?"  
  
"No. We informed every level of law enforcement. He had very little cash. I cannot imagine he has gotten far."  
  
"We'll be looking for him here as well."  
  
"Mason, I know there is no making up for this. Without Harrison's betrayal you would never have been podded."  
  
"True. But the deed is done. Wailing about it won't bring Harrison back into the fold. We should concentrate upon his capture."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"I know."  
  
The conversation ended.  
  
"You sound more even-tempered about this news than I think I could be, if Harrison had put me into the deep chiller."  
  
"April and I have been friends for a long time. I'm angry with her now, but telling her that wouldn't accomplish anything. The anger will fade. Besides, in the course of nearly three decades of working together, I've done things that disappointed April. I'm trying to think what resources Harrison has. His mutant allies are either dead, podded, or long vanished into obscurity. I am bothered by never ferreting out where the man's money went. After accounting for traceable expenses and purchases, he regularly had a surplus."  
  
"Gambling?"  
  
"Not that anyone could find."  
  
"Drugs?"  
  
"One of his technicians worked for me, and contrived to get a hair sample so we could assay long term as well as short term drug use. We found nothing except prescription drugs we knew about."  
  
"Offshore accounts?"  
  
"Possibly. No matter how much money he may have hidden offshore, it could not be enough to privately support his research. He needs a patron for that."  
  
The day after Angela's return, Rebecca spent hours with her, carefully removing the bits of twig caught in her long hair, washing and patiently combing it out with great care to minimize what had to be cut out as hopelessly matted and tangled.  
  
"No one's fussed over me like this since I was a little girl."  
  
"You have a lovely face, Angela. The results are worth the trouble and time."  
  
"Do you really think so?"  
  
"I do. Angela, the fact that you have wings has no effect on your features."  
  
"I'm used to being ridiculed."  
  
"Anyone who ridiculed you was just ignorant. You're intelligent, and you've trained that intelligence, made yourself one of the people who make the world better. Nothing to ridicule in that. In the air, you're graceful as a gymnast or dancer, again, nothing to ridicule."  
  
"You really mean that."  
  
"The world is full of people who contribute very little, and there is something else you must consider. I've seen a lot of the Genomex mutants. Many of them are dangerous to themselves and other people. They are everything negative that the stories about the mutants say, criminals or insane individuals who don't care who they hurt. That's not you."  
  
"I hadn't thought of things that way."  
  
"Time for you to begin thinking that way. Genomex has a high tech façade hiding a history of horror. You aren't a horror, you're just different, different in positive ways. Someone should have said all of this to you before."  
  
"I wish they had."  
  
"Better late than not at all."  
  
When Angela was groomed and dressed in her old clothes, Rebecca brought her to my office. "Mason has something special to show you." We took Angela the short drive to the old St Katherine's Hospital, now closed.  
  
"The religious organization that operated old St Katherine's built a new hospital 23 miles away in the suburbs. Genomex has purchased this facility." We entered the lobby through the heavy main doors. The scent of freshly cut lumber hung in the air.  
  
"Much of the facility can be used as it stands. The rest will be remodeled or refitted, whatever is required. When the project is completed, St Katherine's will be the only hospital in the world staffed and equipped to treat Genomex mutants."  
  
Angela turned to me. "Why would you expect them to come to a Genomex hospital for treatment?"  
  
"Policies and procedures have changed. For several months now, I've been bringing mutants out of the shadows. They're placed in ordinary jobs. In exchange for a promise not to have children –the extinction implication is fully explained to them—I leave them alone and they live lives like ordinary people. St Katherine's will be available to them, the only facility where they will be able to freely describe and discuss their problems without fear of not being taken seriously and being referred to a psychiatric group. St Katherine's will also pioneer treatment for the inevitable onset of immune system problems leading to early mutant death. Pursuit of the criminal and insane will continue; I make that clear."  
  
"And you're getting people to crawl out from under rocks and accept this agreement?"  
  
"Yes. More of them all the time as world of the legitimacy of the program spreads."  
  
"Remarkable."  
  
"Angela, I would very much like you to work here. I need your skills. I also need the presence of mutant staff to give St Katherine's credibility."  
  
"I'd like that. What kind of position?"  
  
"Describe it to me, and it's yours."  
  
"That's an incredible offer."  
  
"I'm recruiting the best. You're highly regarded."  
  
"Thank you...but you're always going to be a demonic figure to some people, no matter what you do."  
  
"St Katherine's isn't about me."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I want my staff to look good. How would you like to work in clothes accommodating your wings, or better yet, leaving your wings free? Working among mutants would mean no need to hide what you are."  
  
"No one makes clothes like that."  
  
"My tailor would." I smiled.  
  
"Clothes that fit!"  
  
"Shall we go meet my tailor and his tape measure?"  
  
"Oh, yes!"  
  
"Your first five business outfits are our gift, Angela. We wanted to give the new mother something special, but your babies don't need much, but you will need clothes."  
  
Angela fluttered her wings nervously. "Thank you, both of you."  
  
Thomasina  
  
Ken is SO clever! He placed a notice on the www.xemoneg.com site about looking for former GSA who were now underemployed, using my name, just in case that horrible Dancer woman is m0nitoring the site. No need for Ken to advertise where he is!  
  
We had the evening together –wheee—but the next morning I really did have to go to work. After all, I had Ken to take care of now!  
  
On the way home from work I stopped at the storage place and liberated two suitcases full of Ken's very special clothes and his drinking horn that a lapsed Odinist sold him. Ken would be so pleased to see these things again! Then I swung by Krogers and picked up two dozen extra large eggs. You never know.  
  
"Ken, my love, where are you?" I shouted as I dropped the suitcases onto the carpet.  
  
"Here I am, Love of My Life," he replied, bounding into the room. Isn't that sweet? O, in the hours I had been away putting my nose to the grindstone I had forgotten how really dashing and handsome my Ken was!  
  
"I've got some very special things here."  
  
I kneeled in the floor and opened one of the suitcases. A good part of it was taken up by Ken's collection of tights in rainbow hues! O how I adored Ken in a short doublet and tights. The tights left nothing to the imagination! I held up his magenta tights.  
  
"Oh, Thomasina!" Ken looked ready to swoon at the sight of the tights.  
  
"I wasn't going to let any of this go to a filthy landfill."  
  
"You must be one of the most thoughtful women on earth! Surely you have no equal! Most anyone would have allowed my lovely tights to go into the garbage, thinking, 'O, he can buy others,' but no, you preserved these that have so many happy hours already associated with them.  
  
We gazed rapturously at one another for a deliciously wonderful long while.  
  
"And I also got some more eggs."  
  
"Thomasina, truly you are a matchless woman."  
  
Ken's little notice brought several interesting responses. Isn't Ken clever? Far away the most interesting came from a fellow named Thorne. Ken invited him to stop by for a job interview. Meanwhile, Ken checked Thorne out, and everything he claimed for himself that could be checked was true!  
  
"Thomasina, he may just be the man I'm looking for."  
  
I read Ken's notes over his shoulder. "He sounds a little frightening, Love of my Life."  
  
"I need someone frightening, Sweet Thomasina, if I am to advance my cause and put Mason Eckhart in his place."  
  
"That sounds risky, my love."  
  
"Thorne could make all the difference."  
  
We settled in for the balance of the evening, Ken and I. I put on my red velvet dress that laces up the front and is nearly indecent, always making Ken crazy! Wheee wheee wheee! Ken wore his deep purple tights and burgundy velvet doublet. We sat down to watch "Prince Valiant" with popcorn and deviled eggs. Robert Wagner sure was cute with all that hair!  
  
Partway through the movie, there was a knock at the door. I recognized Frank Thorne from his online photos. He seemed startled by my appearance, but said nothing more than, "I'm here to see a Dr Harrison."  
  
"Follow me to the Great Hall, uh...living room."  
  
As soon as Thorne was inside and the door closed, we were in the living room. Ken was sitting there with a plate of deviled eggs on his lap.  
  
"Is this a bad time?" Thorne asked.  
  
Are cold-blooded killers polite? I asked myself.  
  
By that time, Ken was on his feet, pushing a chair in front of the tv for Thorne, shaking his hand, and offering him deviled eggs.  
  
"I hear you're an expert in pruning roses," Ken began. "I'm looking for a rose-pruning expert."  
  
By the time we finished "Prince Valiant", watched "Excalibur", and started on "The Warlord", we three were all old friends. Frank was one of us.  
  
Sir Franklyn de Thorne, as we now called him, was quite the rascal, and an expert at pruning roses like Paul Breedlove and the GSA agents sent to capture him. Ken was pleased with everything he said, and knew he had found his champion.  
  
Sir Franklyn told a sad tale of not being appreciated by his former employer. When he chose to leave the GSA, he found himself hunted down by fellow agents! If he would not work for Mason Eckhart, he would not work for anyone!  
  
How deeply selfish, I thought. If Sir Franklyn wanted to better himself, no past employer should stand in his way/  
  
The evening went so well I thought I might have to hard boil more eggs, but fortunately, the evening ended before my trays of deviled eggs emptied.  
  
We met Sir Franklyn the following morning in the apartment parking lot. He was still aglow with the conversation of the previous evening. "And we are journeying now to the place where the Dark Viper Master dwells?"  
  
Perhaps Sir Frankly was a little too aglow with yesterday's discussions. His eyes had a peculiar glassy look to them. He was a telekinetic, so he couldn't be high, or the air would be full of flying objects.  
  
"Have you had breakfast, Frank?"  
  
"Huevos rancheros. My favorite. Can't face the Great Dark Viper Master on an empty stomach." He smiled. He had a disturbing smile.  
  
"Well, Sir Franklyn, this is really more of a scouting expedition...I want to find out if certain security flaws still exists."  
  
"Victory goes to him bold enough to seize opportunity by the throat!"  
  
"Who said that?" Ken asked.  
  
"I did," Sir Franklyn replied.  
  
Ken rolled his eyes at me, anticipating a long (and trying) morning. Whoever started calling him 'Mad Dog Thorne' was right on target!  
  
Ken drove us to a residential street bordering Genomex, to a dead end street ending in trees and brush.  
  
"Now what, Love of my Life?"  
  
Ken grinned. "You'll see." He plunged into the brush and told us to follow. Just a few meters inside, we were looking at the chain-link fence surrounding Genomex. Ken started whistling a merry little tune as he reached down to the fence, popped off two c-clamps and opened up the fence using the pre-cut opening.  
  
"It's still here, it's still here!"  
  
"Did you make this opening, Love of my Life?"  
  
"No, but I found it!"  
  
In we went.  
  
As we straightened up and brushed twigs and leaves from ourselves, can you guess what we saw next?  
  
Mason  
  
Sunday morning brought cloudless, beautiful weather. Angela had no idea what she looked like in flight, so Rebecca was recording her in acrobatics with her falcon children. Rebecca was watching the sky; I discerned movement at the edge of my vision, and wheeled about to see Frank Thorne, Mad Dog Thorne, stalking towards us through the grass no more than 30 meters away, and behind him, but moving more cautiously, Ken Harrison and Thomasina Hobson!  
  
Thorne was a powerful telekinetic; even at that range he had no problem disarmed both of us, and pulling the cane out of my hands, lifting it into his.  
  
My agents were too far away to help. The assumption that the perimeter of Genomex was secure was just not true.  
  
"Great Dark Viper Master, dark cloud over my life, I have come to settle accounts!"  
  
"Who is this lunatic?" Rebecca asked.  
  
"He worked for me briefly, Rebecca."  
  
"Rebecca?" Thorne stopped for a moment, confused.  
  
"Rebecca! If I renounce present fame and future ambition, I renounce it for they sake, and we will escape in company. Listen to me, Rebecca. Genomex, the GSA—is not the world. There are spheres in which we may act, ample enough even for my ambition."  
  
Rebecca was puzzled for a moment, then realized Thorne's source. "O Dear God!"  
  
"I will form new paths of greatness," Thorne continued.  
  
"Why don't you take off at a run, Rebecca. He's a lot farther gone than I imagined."  
  
"And leave you here with him?"  
  
"We part then thus?"  
  
"What are you going to do?" I asked her.  
  
"Kick and bite, I guess."  
  
"I am, Rebecca, as thou has spoken me, untaught, untamed—and proud that, amidst a shoal of empty fools and crafty bigots, I have retained the pre- eminent fortitude that places me above them. I have been a child of battle from my youth upwards, high in my views, steady and inflexible in pursuing them. Such must I remain—proud, inflexible, and unchanging; and if this world shall have proof—But thou forgivest me, Rebecca?"  
  
I glanced upward. Angela and her falcon-brood settled one by one onto tree branches behind the three invaders. I had no doubt that Angela had identified Thorne during her descent.  
  
Angela silently took off from her branch, and swept slowly, gracefully to Thorne, sinking her talons into him, while shrieking an ear-splitting "SKRAWK!", lifting him a meter from the ground before dropping him.  
  
Thorne rolled, still clinging to my cane. Life Harrison and Hobson, he got a good look at his attacker, and he recognized her. Harrison and Hobson were horrified. Thorne did not seem to notice the deep, bleeding gashes in his shoulders. He stood up in time to face Angela's second assault.  
  
"Great Foul Fire-Breathing Winged Worm, come and get me!"  
  
Thorne's grasp of reality, tenuous when he worked for me, and that with the benefit of heavy medication. Unmedicated, he appeared to mistake Angela for a dragon.  
  
Angela did not care what he thought she was; she turned and dove at him, talons outstretched. But Thorne was a telekinetic, and he had time to focus himself and divert Angela at the last possible moment. She was thrown several meters to the side rolling end over end. Then she did not move.  
  
Her falcon-children did not hesitate, but took to the air in a swarm. Thorne could deflect every other bird, but every other bird got past his telekinetic defenses. Horribly, he brought one of these down with a blow from my cane.  
  
The anger of the falcons intensified. They began attacking in teams of twos and threes. When one pecked out one of Thorne's eyes, I heard Thomasina Hobson scream as she ran for the Genomex fenceline. Ken Harrison bolted after her a few moments later. They had seen enough to know the outcome.  
  
Angela was back in the air. While the falcons distracted Thorne, Angela attacked him from behind, sinking her talons deeply into his shoulders so that she grasped the bones. She rose slowly, burdened by his weight. He was having a hard time focusing his telekinetics; the falcons attacked him at every opportunity.  
  
Rebecca turned away when Angela dropped Thorne from several dozen meters. I wish I had. The falcons followed him down, then fell upon the body, tearing away the clothes, then ripping the flesh beneath it, and eating it.  
  
"I've seen enough, Mason. I'll wait by the picnic tables."  
  
"I'm going with you."  
  
Angela came along some time later. I was relieved to see that she was not splattered with blood, that she had not partaken of the feast.  
  
"Are you angry with me?" she asked.  
  
"No. He would have done something to me or Rebecca or both of us. Thank you, Angela."  
  
"I was afraid you would be angry or disgusted with me or my children."  
  
"Your children are falcons. That is their nature. We just didn't want to watch," Rebecca said.  
  
"Thorne deserved what happened to him."  
  
"No argument from me," I said softly.  
  
"The children will leave no trace of him—no flesh, no bones, no clothes."  
  
"Explaining blood clothes and picked-clean bones would have been difficult."  
  
"I should feel good now, having taken care of him. I should have wanted to feast beside my children. I feel terrible and I could not bring myself to touch his flesh. I don't understand why."  
  
"I do," Rebecca said. "You're human."  
  
A few weeks later, after her wounded falcon child was healed, Angela led her brood to the place where she had lived with the wild birds. She stayed with them until they were accepted, then returned to Genomex and assisted in the planning of St Katherine's Hospital. 


End file.
